Chapter 5: The Nun and the Revolver

Turning past the corridor corner, a glass passage led straight toward the conservatory.

The Gryan manor’s conservatory, called a conservatory, was not just a room but an enormous glass house occupying several hundred square meters.

Outside, the white-painted iron frame gleamed cold beneath the moonlight, revealing mottled rust where the paint had peeled away.

Raindrops drummed violently against the glass, like countless fingers tapping at the windows.

On such a storm-ridden night, the conservatory resembled a lone beast crouched in the rain.

Evelyn looked through the transparent corridor.

Inside, darkness smothered everything.

The corpses of the flowers, withered and twisted, were dyed into pitch-black silhouettes with claws outstretched.

If it were a sunny season, those plants would not be reduced to shriveled remains.

Sunlight would spill through the glass, tinting everything warm.

“This is the conservatory.”

Vivian hurried along with the kerosene lantern.

The light wavered against the glass as she reached up onto her toes and flicked the switch.

Rows of tungsten bulbs at the center of the conservatory flickered a few times before warm yellow light washed over the space, driving back the shadows.

“Sorry… no one’s taken care of this place for a long time.”

Vivian covered her nose and set down the extinguished lantern beside a planter.

She waved her hand through the air, trying to chase away the dust.

“Everything’s covered in it.”

“Was this conservatory abandoned after the old Earl died?”

Evelyn asked, looking at the dead plants.

“No…”

Vivian shook her head.

“The old Earl built this conservatory for his wife.”

“I heard she loved this place very much when she was still alive.”

“But ever since she passed away, the old Earl closed it.”

“Wife?”

Evelyn frowned slightly.

“Mm-hm.”

“After the Lady died, no one ever tended to this place again.”

Vivian scratched her head.

“The old Earl even ordered that no one was allowed to step inside.”

“I see…”

Evelyn kept her expression soft and serene like a nun should.

But her mind was already analyzing.

She knew little about the old Countess—Cyril’s mother—and she hadn’t cared to ask.

Her concern about the Gryan family was only to avoid the arranged marriage.

The old Countess died long ago.

There was no need to investigate someone long dead.

Yet Vivian’s story stirred a thread of suspicion.

The old Earl built this vast and luxurious conservatory for his beloved wife—proof he cherished her deeply.

So why seal it off the moment she died?

If he loved her, shouldn’t he maintain this place as one of the few memories she left?

Or, if the pain of missing her was too great, he should have demolished it entirely.

If he refused to destroy her relic but also could not face it, he should at least have kept it maintained—just avoiding the place himself.

No matter how you reasoned it…

Letting the conservatory rot like a corpse was illogical.

This Gryan manor was truly filled with bizarre contradictions.

“Can you tell me more about the Lady?”

Evelyn asked.

“I don’t actually know much.”

Vivian rolled her eyes thoughtfully.

“I came after she passed away.”

“But, Sister, you could ask Sera.”

“She’s served the family since she was a child.”

Vivian had mentioned Sera before—the head maid, and certainly the longest-serving.

“Later, take me to her.”

Evelyn said.

But before the words finished, the tungsten lights above flickered.

Szzzt—

A sharp zap, and every bulb died at once.

The conservatory was plunged into darkness.

Evelyn’s eyes adjusted after a moment, aided by cold moonlight filtering through the glass ceiling—enough to see vague outlines.

“Ah—probably because the power hasn’t run for so long.”

Vivian scrambled to relight the lantern.

Dim flame lit her freckles again.

“Please wait here— I’ll go check—”

But Evelyn just kept quietly staring at her face, as though trying to see something through the flickering firelight.

That silent, death-still gaze made Vivian’s skin crawl.

“No.”

Evelyn finally spoke.

Vivian slumped with relief, clutching her chest.

Her heart was still pounding and hadn’t yet settled.

But the next words made it leap to her throat again.

“The demon is here.”

As the sentence fell, the storm outside suddenly howled louder.

Wind and rain hammered the glass, shaking the entire structure as if bullets were assaulting it.

A second later, gigantic bat-like shadows spread over the glass roof.

CRASH!

The dome shattered.

Cold wind and rain poured in along with a torrent of black creatures.

They screeched hideously as they dove downward.

Moonlight struck their bodies—stone-carved skin, red eyes dragging streaks of light through the air, and deep-blue bat wings stirring violent gales.

Evelyn pressed Vivian’s neck down with one hand, forcing her to crouch.

With the other, she drew a silver revolver from the thigh holster concealed beneath her nun’s robe.

CRACK!

Vivian stumbled and dropped the lantern.

Glass shattered across the floor as spilled kerosene snaked into streams.

Flames erupted upward with a violent whoom, scorching her cheek.

BANG!

Thunderous gunfire exploded from the revolver.

Two silver bullets shot out from two barrels simultaneously, roaring through fire and smoke, striking a stone-skinned demon mid-flight.

CRRRK!

Its body shattered like collapsing masonry.

Gargoyles.

Common little demons.

Unlike true demons, they attached themselves to lifeless objects—like decorative rooftop statues.

Hence their name.

Fragments rained to the floor.

Then came a rapid barrage of gunfire.

BANG! BANG!

The revolver spat flame again and again.

Intricate blue-rose engravings along the twin barrels gleamed beneath bursts of fire and moonlight.

Each bullet tracked perfectly through the erratic flight patterns, shredding gargoyles into rubble.

This revolver was crafted by famed gunsmith “Leonardo.”

Chambered in .50 Magnum rounds.

A 22.2-centimeter barrel ensuring massive force and range.

And at Evelyn’s insane request—two barrels.

One trigger pull, two bullets.

Double the lethality—more than double the recoil.

Any ordinary person would break their wrist after a single shot.

This weapon wasn’t for close combat or stealth.

It was an “entry tool,” a “solution,” a “finisher.”

Evelyn usually used it once she had a confirmed target—to deliver a decisive opening strike.

Once she fired, the goal was instant termination.

But the doubled shot capacity came with a flaw—

The cylinder only held six rounds.

Meaning three shots.

With a crisp click of the hammer—

The cylinder emptied.

A gargoyle seized its chance and lunged, stone halberd thrusting straight for Evelyn.

In its primitive mind—

Empty gun meant helpless prey.

How naïve.

THUD!

Evelyn tossed the six spent rounds into the air.

Then she swung the revolver sideways.

The blue-enamel finial at the ivory grip smashed against the creature’s cheek, powerful enough to dent solid stone with spider-web cracks.

WHAM!

The gargoyle was launched backward, slamming through wooden flower racks and smashing countless pots.

The cylinder snapped open with a metallic clack, spinning into a gleaming silver wheel beneath the night.

Smoking hot brass hit the ground in a cascading chorus.

And the six bullets she had flung aloft—

Dropped perfectly back into every chamber slot.

CHHK!

The cylinder snapped into place.

The hammer fell.

Fire bloomed down the barrels.

BANG! BANG!

The final two bullets obliterated the last gargoyle into rubble.

Evelyn blew the smoke from the revolver’s muzzle like an old western gunslinger.

Then spun the weapon into a flourish and slid it smoothly into the thigh holster.

Stylish—yes.

But rain continued pounding through the shattered ceiling, drenching the “gentle” nun into a soaked mess.

“Tch…”

Evelyn brushed her soaked hair back, expression tight with annoyance.

The wet habit clung to her curves, while soot from the burning kerosene left streaks of black across her cheeks.

Being drenched head-to-toe was unbearable.

“T-T-Those things… are they the demons in the manor?”

Vivian stammered.

“Is… is it over?”

“Mm. More or less.”

Evelyn’s gaze lingered on the freckled maid for a moment.

Then she impatiently wiped the soot from her face.

“Is there somewhere to bathe?”

“Being soaked feels awful.”

“Yes! Yes!”

Vivian nodded rapidly, arms tight against her body.

“I’ll take you right away!”

Terrified, she hurriedly leapt over the burning kerosene and fled toward the glass corridor.

It seemed the exorcism had frightened her badly.

Behind her…

Evelyn looked at the girl’s overly stiff, trembling back.

A playful little smile curled on her lips.